


the demons and the forces of darkness

by mutents



Series: Sansa, the Vampire Slayer [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutents/pseuds/mutents
Summary: Sandor didn't say a word as he watched her fall. He was too stunned. Besides, the little she-wolf was howling loudly enough for both of them, rushing over to her sister and collapsing next to her. Sandor watched silently as Arya grabbed Sansa by the shoulder, shaking her with all of her strength and screaming at the older girl to get up, to open her eyes, to come back.





	the demons and the forces of darkness

Sandor didn't say a word as he watched her fall. He was too stunned. Besides, the little she-wolf was howling loudly enough for both of them, rushing over to her sister and collapsing next to her. Sandor watched silently as Arya grabbed Sansa by the shoulder, shaking her with all of her strength and screaming at the older girl to get up, to open her eyes, to come back.

Sandor didn't even realize that he'd moved, suddenly finding himself kneeling next to the young girl, running a hand gently through the curls that had so reminded him of fire. Her eyes were wide, staring at the sky without seeing anything.

"Sansa," he murmured, his voice breaking as he realized how easily her neck moved; unnaturally so, a result of it being snapped by a demon that Arya had since killed.

"Do something, you useless dog!" Arya shouted, shoving his shoulder. "Fix her! She can't be dead!"

He nodded, not saying a word. He could feel tears trail down his cheeks, and found himself thinking back to the last time he'd cried. It had been only days earlier, the first time he and Sansa had made love. He'd never imagined that he could ever feel so happy.

Of course, that kind of joy could never last. Not in the world they lived in.

He felt himself let out a sob, pulling her closer to his breast and rocking with her. "No," he murmured against her hair. "No, no, no..."

Sandor absently noted that Arya had taken to beating against his shoulder, tears of her own pouring from her eyes as she sobbed in both grief and anger. "You bastard!" She hissed.

"Stop," he whispered. When she didn't he repeated it, shouting this time. "Do you think this is what Sansa would want? Us fighting over... over her corpse?"

She collapsed against him, grabbing one of her sister's hands and shaking. "No," she said, the word barely pushing past her lips.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly over the graveyard. Far too brightly for Sandor. He had a splitting headache; hardly surprising, considering he'd spent every day since Sansa's death in an alcoholic stupor. The only reason he'd shown up for the funeral at all was because Arya had showed up at his door and told him that if he didn't come, Sansa would never forgive him.

He could stand disappointing the she-wolf. He couldn't imagine disappointing his little bird.

He stood quietly, only Arya near him. He was as far away from her family as possible, and had told Arya several times to go and join her family. She'd steadfastly refused, choosing instead to grab his hand without saying a single word.

Sansa's father stood in stony silence; Sandor wondered if the man was thinking of his own sister, a girl just a year older than Sansa when she'd died. Catelyn Stark hadn't stopped crying once, growing more hysterical with each passing minute. Sandor was almost surprised she hadn't fainted yet. Standing beside his mother was the eldest, Robb, who's blank look made Sandor think he was still in shock. Bran was sitting in his wheelchair, looking unusually small even for him. Young Rickon was looking between all of the crying adults, the magnitude of what had happened not truly sinking in with the three year old. Sandor asked himself if the youngest would even remember Sansa. He shook his head - he knew better than that. Arya would never let her sister's memory die.

As the coffin was lowered into the ground, Sandor had to fight from sinking to his knees. The only thing that kept him on his feet was the iron hold from the young Stark girl - the only Stark girl now.

Once the majority of the mourners had left, the only ones who remained was Sansa's family and Sandor. Sandor felt Arya squeeze his hand tightly, bringing his attention up from the hole in the ground and to the blue eyes that were far too similar to his little birds. Where Sansa's had almost always held warmth, though, the ones staring at him now held nothing but contempt.

"How dare you show your face here," Catelyn Stark hissed, her words full of hatred. "Do you think the cops didn't tell us that it was you she was with when she was mugged? What did you do to protect her? Nothing! You did nothing! And now... Now she's dead..."

Catelyn broke off, sobbing loudly as she collapsed against her husband. Sandor looked at the older man, and found that the emotion in his eyes struck harder than his wife's.

Eddard Stark's eyes held pity.

As the rest of the Stark family shuffled back to their car, Arya continued to stand next to him, holding his hand. From the corner of his eye he could see her swipe her free hand across her cheek, wiping away the tears that she'd cried.

"This wasn't supposed to be how it ended," she finally murmured. "You guys were supposed to get married, have a billion kids. Perfect little girls like her, and hellion boys like you. She was going to always have a billion pictures on her phone of them, and you'd tease her mercilessly about it, the entire time your own eyes full to the brim with pride and love. You'd teach the girls how to kick ass, desperate for them to be able to protect themselves from the evils you know lurk in the dark, and she'd do the same. Both of you giving them different kinds of fighting styles, telling them to remember both. But they'd be disgustingly normal, and you both would be thankful for that fact every single day. They'd have outrageous birthday parties, and have an entire section of the auditorium full for their performances. We'd have to bring our own stands to their baseball games. Bring minivans to everything they did just to cart all of us. And you'd spend the entire time sitting there awkwardly, but then Sansa would slip her hand in yours and you'd finally relax." She paused, letting go of his hand and swiping his tears again. "It's not fucking fair," she sobbed.

Sandor finally gave up the battle. He dropped to his knees, grabbing the dirt and grass under his hands and ripping it from the ground, letting out a broken howl to the sky. He felt the tears wet against his cheeks, but he didn't care. He was far too focused on the hole in the ground that now held the only good thing he'd ever experienced. He screamed and shouted and bellowed, pounding his fists against the ground, not even noticing as they started to bruise. He crawled over to the headstone, changing the object of his ire.

It took Arya pulling him back to the land of the living, yelling at him herself that Sansa would be pissed that he broke his hands. As she spoke, the pain finally began to sink in.

It was still second to the pain of loss, though.

Arya dropped to the ground next to him, wrapping her arms around as much of his shoulders as he could. She ran her fingers through his greasy hair, letting him lean on her. She was far stronger than Sandor would ever be.

But Sansa... Sansa was stronger than both of them.

And Sansa was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> For what it's worth, I cried while writing this.


End file.
